


The Inspired Writer vs the Real Writer

by My_Soul_and_Perfume



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dialogue, Writer's Block, Writer's struggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 19:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13507956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Soul_and_Perfume/pseuds/My_Soul_and_Perfume
Summary: As writers, I think we’ve all experienced the dreaded “writer’s block.” It has made us cry, yell in anger, and is the main reason we stay up past midnight guzzling cups of coffee over our laptops, trying to create a feasible and clever outline for our stories. This is an illustration of that scenario tied in with an adaptation of Sarah Allen’s, The Inspired Writer vs the Real Writer, as I take the concept of pursuing perfection and transform it into a dialogue between the Inspired Writer and Real Writer.





	The Inspired Writer vs the Real Writer

**Author's Note:**

> Wasn't sure how to add footnotes, so parenthesized numbers will have to do.
> 
> Critiques always welcome!

“Well, I’ve got a vague, microscopic idea about what I want to say—not even a hatchling. Professor was encouraging me to elaborate on them during Group Seminar, but I couldn’t. My mouth was glued shut. When it was over, he gave us time to work on our projects. I still couldn’t. I heard the little voices in my head _glissando_. Pages of meticulous writing turned to chicken scratch. My eyes crisscrossed, and my knuckles suffered from Charlie Horses from wringing my pen’s spine like a soaked towel. It seemed like the clock’s metronome was the only think keeping me grounded, and I kept eyeing it—I kept eyeing it because I couldn’t face my fear.”              
       “Why did you think avoiding the problem would help you. How would it? That is, unless you managed to get things done. I’m assuming you didn’t.”              
       “Vague ideas. I told you. I was trying to—to _navigate_ my way through the problem. Didn’t help much though. Actually, it’s funny because this piece is supposed to be a satire about the writer’s process. Tears, curse words, and all. I’ve been a writer for so long— _eight years_ —but I can’t even talk about what it means to be a writer! What does that say about me?”              
       “My dear, naïve soul. You poor thing. How does it feel to drive on a dreadful road in a drooping car through dreadful weather, thinking deadly thoughts as you head straight for disaster? What kind of writer are you, indeed.”              
       “Oh. You had that one ready, didn’t you? Not one pause! You didn’t even stutter!”              
       “Well, I have ‘vague ideas’ myself, but not one of them are as passionately endowed as yours. Those coffee rings under your eyes, your tambourine hands, and tangled hair…. Why, I think you are more beautiful than whatever ‘perfect’ prose I could ever conjure. However, lately I’ve noticed the fear in your eyes. As you said, you keep eyeing the clock—keep eyeing it because you can’t face your fear. I—”              
       “I could never be like you. You’re the perfect and amazing, always-inspired writer.”              
       “No. I am the transcendent distortion of real-life writers (1), such as yourself. Nothing more, nothing less. I am what you aspire to become. Fake fruit.”              
       “I don’t aspire to be a _fake_ writer. I aspire to be perfect!”              
       “Same thing.”              
       “It’s not.”              
       “It is.”              
       “Look, nobody likes a sloppy and unintelligent writer. When the professor holds out his hand, I’ll be the only one without a sacrifice to give him. That final write-up isn’t a joke to me. It’s serious and it could cost me my grade if I’m careless. Why can’t you understand that? He’s going to think I’m _that_ writer—the ignorant one. The sloppy one. The heartless one. I don’t know what to do to save myself.”              
      “I don’t have the answers. I’m sorry. I’m just the perfect, amazing, flawless, inspired writer. There’s nothing I can do for you.”              
       “Yeah.... I thought you might say that.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Sarah Allen, "The Inspired Writer vs the Real Writer," p 36
> 
> Critiques always welcome!


End file.
